Halt's Muse
by Major Trouble
Summary: Before Will, before Gilan, there was another apprentice that Halt prefers not to mention. One night around the fire at Redmont, his story is finally told.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a story I wrote a while ago for a fiction writing class, so if it seems like I'm overly descriptive of people and concepts that Ranger fans should know about, keep in mind this was written for a teacher who had never heard of the series. Hope you enjoy it!**

 **Halt's Muse**

"His name was Muse," the Ranger started, staring into the dying embers at the edge of the fire. "Muse Fletcher. Crowley joked it was fate. Fletcher, the fletching on an arrow. He was born to be a Ranger, Crowley always said." There was a slight pause; then, "He was right, of course. He usually is."

The Corps Commandant, sitting next to his old friend, dropped his gaze at the words. This wasn't a story he wanted to hear, wasn't a time he wanted to relive. "He was destined for great things," he muttered, and Halt nodded agreement.

Will and Gilan, two of Halt's three former apprentices, leaned forward slightly and peered through the flames at the two Rangers. None of them had ever heard the name Muse Fletcher, but then not many in the Corps had ever spoken about him after the fact. What that fact was, exactly, was unclear.

Lady Pauline placed a hand on Halt's shoulder and her husband turned his head, looking at her with the one eye not concealed by the cowl of his mottled cloak. She gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head, urging him to go on. With a short sigh, he turned back to the small group in the clearing. Will, with his shock of brown hair and a lively grin always playing across his face, sat next to Alyss, tall and elegant just like her former mentor Lady Pauline. Gilan and Jenny, to Alyss's left, made an odd pair. The former was a tall handsome Ranger and the only of his kind to master a sword, and the latter a small and slightly pudgy happy-go-lucky chef at least as skilled as her teacher, Master Chubb. On Will's right, Sir Horace, the Oakleaf Knight and Will's best friend, had his arm wrapped around Princess Cassandra, heir to the throne of Araluen. When Will Treaty had a get-together, everyone showed up. Even Will's dog, Ebony, was present, curled up with her head in her master's lap.

Holding his hand out, Halt let the flickering firelight illuminate the shiny black rock nestled neatly in his palm. Engraved on the face, below the shallow layer of black so the letters appeared in white, was the carefully formed word 'TRUST.' Horace had stumbled across the rock earlier, wedged under an old piece of wood below the veranda. Leave it to the well-built warrior to squeeze into the crawl space during their earlier rousing game of hide-and-go-seek.

"Muse carried this with him everywhere. It was as attached to him as his Shadow." He paused, then realized that they would assume he was talking about something else. "That is, his dog. We called him Muse's Shadow."

"Rusty," Crowley added, without seeming to realize he'd spoken. Halt spared him a glance and continued.

"A red husky." Seeing looks of confusion from across the fire, he elaborated. "A sled dog. In some snowy countries, and many of our northern fiefs, people harness huskies to sleds and use them for travel or sport. They have long, thick fur to keep them warm, typically black of gray and white. Rusty's fur was rust red, hence the name."

Unconsciously scratching Ebony behind the ears, Will's voice was low as he replied, "He sounds beautiful."

Halt nodded sadly. "He was." A tad ruefully, he added, "Although I never would've admitted that to Muse."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and collecting himself. "This rock was practically Muse's religion. He wasn't a trusting person before this; his parents had abandoned him – while allowing his older brother to stay with them – when he was only seven years old. He lived on the roads for years, sometimes alone, sometimes with others his age or younger. But never with anyone older.

"He learned to track, he learned to move silently and without being seen so that he could go unnoticed by people and animals alike. He hunted rabbits with his bare hands, or so he said. I never doubted that."

He lapsed into silence again, lost in memory. Deciding Halt could use some help, Crowley picked up the story. "When he was twelve, Halt and I were on our way home from the annual Ranger Gathering when we realized we were being stalked."

Horace snorted at that. "Two of the best Rangers in the Corps were being stalked? How'd he think he was going to get away with that?"

The Commandant gave the knight a long look, while Halt merely raised an eyebrow. "He didn't think he would. He didn't want to," Crowley explained. "Much like Gilan, he sought us out."

"He didn't trust us," Halt interrupted. "We were adults, and he was wary of us because of it." Someone muttered "understandable" on the other side of the fire. Halt looked at his young companions through the flames but couldn't figure out which had spoken. He continued. "Still, he demonstrated his skills, all the things he'd taught himself from a young age. And he asked if we could teach him to be a Ranger."

* * *

Halt and Crowley exchanged glances and each cast an appraising eye over the malnourished youth in front of them. "You're very good for someone your age," Crowley said kindly, "and I'm sure you could make a great Ranger someday. But ours is a dangerous business, and you're a bit young to begin training." Generally apprentices weren't taken until the age of fifteen, with exceptions normally only ranging a year in either direction. Certainly this boy was not yet fourteen.

"I could do it," he said stubbornly. "I know I'm too young. But I already got some skills I'll need as a Ranger and if you say no I'll keep comin' back every year 'til you say yes. And 'til then I'll just get better so in a couple years when I'm fifteen you'll just _hafta_ say yes."

Again the cloaked figures on horseback looked at one another, communicating with a series of facial and hand gestures only they understood. After a few moments Halt turned with the intention of speaking to the boy, only to realize that he had disappeared and, distracted as they were with their silent conversation, the Rangers hadn't noticed him leave.

No, not leave, Halt thought, casting his gaze around the underbrush at the edges of the forest path. "There," he whispered as a bush moved almost imperceptibly. Louder, he continued, watching for another sign of the boy, "Crowley, I think he's gone. I guess we'll just have to head out. Wait until next year and hope that the Ranger he finds then will take him as an apprentice."

In unison, the two Rangers picked up their reins and turned their respective mounts to continue on their way. As expected, there was a rustling behind them, shortly followed by a young voice crying out, "No, wait!"

Crowley hid a grin and stopped, looking back over his shoulder. Halt spun his horse, Abelard, around and regarded the figure in the road with a frown. "Yes?"

"Does that mean you'll take me?"

Halt took a better look at the grubby child in front of him. About average height for his age, skinny beyond belief with short-cropped brown hair. Not particularly strong, probably due to starvation, and wearing rags that could hardly be called clothes. There was a dagger tucked into his dilapidated belt and a small sack slung over his left shoulder. A few scars crisscrossed on his legs and one fresh gouge adorned his left shoulder.

Lastly Halt looked into the boy's eyes. He knew that what he saw there would determine his answer regardless of his physical appearance.

The youth's bright blue eyes , shining with determination and confidence, were trained eagerly on the grim Ranger, waiting for a response.

Adopting a world-weary posture and expression, Halt gestured for the boy to follow. "Well come on then," he sighed. "We'd better set up camp at the river and get some food in you."

* * *

The silence stretched for some minutes as Halt's voice faded. The cowl of his cloak threw his face in shadow as his companions across the fire found themselves wondering what happened next. No one seemed to know what to say, or how much they could push and prod Halt for the story before he clammed up entirely. Finally, a quiet whisper.

"So what happened?"

It was Jenny. Somehow, it didn't seem right to speak in a normal tone while sitting around a campfire in the middle of the darkening woods, listening to Halt of all people talk about a piece of his past. A raised voice would break the trance, and then who knew what would happen? Probably not the end of the story.

Halt twisted around a little bit on the ground, stretching his back and resettling against his log. "We fed him, of course," he said with a raised eyebrow.

* * *

Muse shifted from foot to foot at the edge of the trees, watching the two Rangers dismount and start to set up camp. Next to him, a grubby dog sat surveying the scene. The spot they'd selected was a sunny patch of sand and dirt at the edge of a slow-moving river, maybe twenty meters from clear blue water to thick green trees. Obviously a popular place for travelers to spend a night, there was a rough fire pit in the middle of the clearing.

Untying a bundle from the back of his saddle, the smaller, bearded Ranger's eyes were intent on his task as he asked, "Do you know how to pitch a tent?"

Assuming the question was intended for his taller, sandy-haired friend, Muse stared idly at the clear blue sky and wondered what kind of question that was. Of course he knew how to pitch a tent; he was already setting his own out on a flat patch of ground. The orphan realized his mistake when the one who'd spoken turned and repeated, "Can you pitch a tent?"

Muse's eyes widened. That was a completely different question when aimed at him. The Ranger quickly crossed the clearing, holding the bundle of cloth, ropes, and poles. The boy's silence was enough. "Well, then, I'll just have to teach you. Find somewhere to put it."

That, he could do. The order was met with a nod and the small boy moved off, scouring the riverside campsite in a crouch. Crowley's tent was up and his things stored by the time Muse straightened up and gestured to Halt. "Here."

The two Rangers peered at the patch of ground he'd chosen, and even to their keen eyes the dirt there didn't look any different than the dirt several feet away, where his husky was lounging. But regardless, Halt set the bundle down. "Let's get started."

Under Halt's supervision, Muse began to set up the tent. He laid the canvas out the way he'd seen Crowley start, and from there guessed and checked until the tent appeared to be up. His eyes followed the Ranger who'd given him his instructions, who was now walking around the small structure. After tightening a knot and hammering a pole a little deeper into the soft ground, the Ranger looked up. "Not bad. Can you cook?"

This time Muse was faster to figure out he was being addressed. "Rabbits, sir," he answered promptly. "And squirrels and chipmunks. Ducks and chickens. And if you want somethin' more filling –"

"I'll catch some rabbit."

Crowley grabbed his longbow and disappeared into the woods, leaving Halt and Muse alone by the riverbank. The former moved back to Abelard to gather up his cooking kit and bedroll. "Why don't you go fetch some firewood?" Halt threw over his shoulder. It was phrased as a question, but he clearly expected to be obeyed. There was only the slightest of shuffling footsteps as the boy moved off to do his bidding.

Later, when Crowley and the boy had returned and the rabbits were spitted over the fire, Halt finally asked a question that, in retrospect, he really should have asked much sooner. "So, now that we've eaten there are some things we should discuss. Let's start simply. What's your name?"

Seeming startled at being addressed in such a manner – or at all – it took him a minute before he answered. "Muse. Muse Fletcher."

"And what's your story?" the Ranger continued softly.

"Huh?"

Halt made an apologetic gesture. "Your story. Your history, if you like. Why you have the skills you have, why you're wearing those clothes, why you don't live with your parents."

"Oh." Muse paused and collected his thoughts before giving a quick, "My parents're dead and I've been livin' on my own since I was seven, sir."

Neither Ranger believed a word he had said. The boy was clearly lying. But, for now at least, they decided to let the lie go. No point in antagonizing him. Instead, Halt decided to skip to something else he'd noticed. "Sir?" he remarked, looking around the small camp in mock alarm. "I don't see any knights here, do you?" He addressed this last bit to Crowley, who shook his head.

"No sirs here."

Muse hesitated, thinking he'd made a mistake. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men. "So whaddo I call you, then?" he asked hesitantly, turning the spit over the fire as he did so. Fat dripped into the fire and flames flared up, the fragrant smell causing his stomach to rumble with hunger. He hadn't had a proper meal in days, and today he was not only getting rabbit, but one of the Rangers, the bearded one, had mixed up some sort of dough and put it in the ashes at the edge of the fire. Muse thought it looked like bread, and fresh bread was something he hadn't had in ages. There was even talk of coffee, a beverage he'd never had and was only vaguely familiar with.

"Well I suppose you'll have to call us by our given names," Crowley said, answering his question.

"What're those?" Muse prompted. He wasn't sure how he felt about these men. He thought maybe he liked the clean-shaven one a bit better, if only because he hadn't ordered Muse around yet. The other one had made him set up a tent and make dinner.

"Well," his less-liked said, "my name is Halt. So you can call me 'Halt.' None of this 'sir' business. And he" – he gestured to the other Ranger – "is Crowley. Watch out for him," Halt added with a slight grin. "He's the Ranger Corps Commandant. Ranger Number 1, the highest ranked of us all."

Muse's eyes widened in alarm. Maybe he didn't like that one so much after all. Crowley saw the expression and turned away until he could compose his features. Halt continued as if he'd noticed nothing. "So, as he's very busy living in the lap of luxury at Castle Araluen, being waited on hand and foot by servants while the rest of us fend for ourselves in the woods of our fiefs, he can't take on an apprentice."

Each Ranger watched Muse's face carefully for the realization to hit. They didn't have long to wait. "So, I'll be… Halt's apprentice? Or…" – he gulped fearfully – "or will someone else entirely be my master?"

Halt shook his head. "You'll come live with me at Redmont, one of the larger fiefs to the west. Unless that bothers you?"

"No!" Muse shook his head violently. While he wasn't sure how he felt about the dark-haired man, he didn't want to offend him. Particularly if Halt was to become his mentor.

"Good. Then we have a lot to talk about, but we can get into that more tomorrow." Muse's new mentor turned to his old friend. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to watch him for a bit. I've got an errand to run."

"No problem." Crowley climbed to his feet, grabbing his and Halt's dishes. Halt had offered to let Muse eat off his plate first, but the youth had instead eaten bare-handed once the meat had cooled a bit. Now he wiped his hands on the ragged shirt he wore. As Halt mounted Abelard and rode out of the clearing without a backwards glance, the Commandant said, "Why don't you come down to the river with me? We'll get you cleaned up."

Looking down at himself, Muse almost protested before he realized that what he considered clean was not the same as the Ranger's idea of cleanliness. He allowed himself to be led the ten meters to the water. Rusty followed, plunging into the river ahead of them.

Twenty minutes later, when Crowley finally declared him acceptable, Muse's skin was pink from scrubbing and his hair stuck up at funny angles. Still waist-deep in the water, he wrapped his arms tightly around his body and wished he could get dressed again, but Crowley had made it clear he wasn't going to get his own clothes back.

"C-can I at least have s-something t-to dry off w-with?" Muse finally asked, teeth chattering.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry, Muse." Crowley disappeared into his tent and reappeared a moment later with a blanket.

Gratefully, Muse left the water and sank into a crouch next to the fire, letting Crowley drape the blanket over him. It wasn't perfect, but the warmth was more comforting than standing in the river waiting for Halt to show up again. Rusty shook himself, splattering them both with water, and curled up near the warm rocks of the fire pit.

"Do you want me to bandage that cut now or after you're dressed?" Crowley asked after a while. The sun had dropped behind the trees and the clearing had darkened. Sparks drifted free of the fire and high into the night sky, broadcasting their position to anyone who cared to look for it. And even as Muse opened his mouth to speak, hoof beats could be heard in the near distance, approaching their camp.

Muse tensed to scurry into cover, but Crowley stopped him with a hand on his arm. "It's Halt." His pointed to his horse who was relaxed and chomping casually on a clump of grass. "If it were anything to worry about, Cropper would be letting us know."

Sure enough, a moment later Halt appeared between the trees and the two Ranger horses nickered greetings to each other as the rider swung down from the saddle. He dropped a knapsack next to his apprentice and slouched against a log next to the boy.

Muse eyed the canvas sack warily. "What is it?"

"It's not going to bite." Halt undid the drawstring and pulled out a brand new set of clothing much like his own – simple brown and gray clothes and a pair of soft leather boots. Lastly, he pulled out a leather collar and leash, which Crowley took and fastened around Rusty's neck, scratching under the puppy's chin as he did. There were at least three or four sets of clothes in the bag, and Muse changed hastily right there, eager to get into the warmth of the new clothes while the temperature dropped around them. When he was finished and hugging the soft material of his new shirt to him, Halt brought out another item and handed that to him as well. "You'll get your own fairly soon, but for the time being it can't hurt for you to borrow this."

In his outstretched hand was his own spare mottled gray and green camouflage cloak. The boy snatched the garment from him eagerly and swung it around his shoulders, fastening the ties at his neck. "So I'm really going to be a Ranger?" he asked eagerly. Crowley grinned, and the Rangers answered in unison.

"If you can survive the training."

* * *

"Hang on a second," Will interrupted, climbing stiffly to his feet. "You've been talking for a while; you must be parched."

Gesturing for Horace and Gilan to help him, the young Ranger led the way into the cabin he'd inherited from Halt. By the fire, Halt and Crowley hoped that meant they were getting coffee.

"So where was Muse from originally? Did he know?" Cassandra asked in the ensuing silence.

Halt stretched his arms out in front of him and twisted at the waist. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was getting much too old to sit on the cold, hard ground, and his stiff muscles were protesting. Leaning back once more, he finally answered her. "Norgate Fief. Apparently they'd had a husky when he was younger and he was used to travel by sled dog, not horse. When he was eventually introduced to Twister, his horse, it was pretty hard not to laugh at how bad he was." The two older Rangers grinned at the memory. "When he climbed up and threw his leg over the saddle, he almost fell off the other side again. He practically begged me to let him rig a dogsled with wheels and a team of dogs, and it took not only me, but Crowley and Old Bob to convince him he would survive on a horse."

"Who is 'Old Bob?'" Cassandra questioned, amusement clear in her voice at the phrase.

"One of the Ranger horse breeders; I leave Abelard with him when I need to, and he trained all of my apprentices' horses, including Tug." From the stable next to the house, where Tug was resting, came a small whinny.

At that moment, the boys shoved between Halt and Crowley's shoulders with a tray of coffee mugs. "Here you go, boys!" Horace hollered, pushing a steaming mug into Halt's hands. Crowley grinned and happily accepted the fragrant drink, while the other Ranger shot the knight a scathing look. Horace remained resolutely un-scathed.

"Took you long enough," Halt griped when he realized his glare was ineffective. There was a small taste of honey, which was good; he'd been afraid Will would hold back intentionally. That would be a very Will-like thing to do. But his former apprentice recognized this was not a situation to fool with his mentor's coffee – particularly if he wanted to hear the entire story rather than a summary. Or nothing.

"So what was the code word for Twister?" Gilan asked as the three young men resumed their seats.

Will had a related question that he asked rather ruefully. "Did he try to ride before he said it for the first time?"

One side of Halt's mouth twisted up in a grin. "Unlike one notable apprentice of mine, Muse caught on and asked why Old Bob and I were hiding grins _before_ Twister got a chance to throw him. _And_ he asked about the archer's cuff before he tried to shoot an arrow, too."

Will ducked his head with a slight grin, remembering when he had made that particular mistake. He'd had a welt for at least a week, and the bruise a lot longer.

"In answer to Gilan's question, Twister's code phrase was _If you'll allow me_."

Princess Cassandra leaned into Horace's shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her and explained the unspoken question. Every Ranger horse was trained to recognize an individual phrase that must be spoken the first time anyone attempted to ride them. If the phrase wasn't spoken, the horse would throw the rider. That was why Ranger horses were never stolen.

"Perhaps now that our throats are soothed, we should go on," Crowley suggested, reminding Halt that he had an obligation to fulfill.

* * *

"I'll watch, Halt. You get some sleep." Crowley rose from the fire and gathered up his equipment, slipping the strap of his quiver over his head. They weren't expecting any danger and this was a relatively safe area of the kingdom, but being ready never hurt and for all they knew, someone could be looking for Muse. That was unlikely, but Rangers never took chances.

"Can I take first watch?"

The two Rangers looked up quickly at the sound of a young voice. In the case the unlikely happened, having Muse on guard would be a bad idea. Halt responded, "That's okay, Muse. You can take Crowley's tent and he and I will trade off in mine. You don't have to watch tonight; get some rest."

Muse shook his head violently, pouting. "No. I'm not gonna let you get half a night of sleep. I can watch too." Seeing Crowley open his mouth, he hurried on before he could be interrupted. "You're forgettin' I've lived outside for years." He was right, and he saw the recognition of his point in their eyes. And was that… admiration? "I know howta keep watch. Maybe not the same as you Rangers do, but I do know. And if there's an issue wontchu both wake up at the smallest sound anyway?"

Halt raised an eyebrow, his trademark expression. "And how would you know that?"

Muse's shifty look answered before he did. "Well, there was one time… I mean, I was – well they were –"

"You tried to rob a Ranger? I'm not sure if you're brave or suicidal." Amusement colored Crowley's voice. The new apprentice blushed but didn't respond. "Well, Halt, he has a point. We would wake up easily enough. I don't think it would be a problem to let him stand guard for a while."

Accepting the Commandant's wisdom – mostly because he had had the same thought – Halt beckoned for Muse and Rusty to follow him to the clump of bushes he had chosen as a vantage point for a crash course in keeping watch.

* * *

It was almost midnight when Halt woke, sensing that something was wrong. Crawling out of his low tent, his keen eyes scanned the camp. A few meters away, the embers of a fire glowed softly, and a few meters past that was Crowley's tent. On the opposite side of the camp was the small clump of bushes where Muse sat, watching.

On guard. Muse was still on guard. Halt glanced at the moon, confirming what he already knew. The boy was supposed to have woken him up over an hour ago.

Halt glided soundlessly through the camp, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to figure out why his new apprentice was still on guard. His heart dropped as he realized – what if he and Crowley had been mistaken? Maybe someone or something had snuck up on the boy who was now officially his, Halt's, responsibility.

But no, the small boy could be seen in the bushes, turning slowly to look behind him. When he caught sight of his mentor, he gave a considerable start.

"Why are you still here? You were supposed to wake me up over an hour ago," Halt hissed in a carrying whisper.

"I'm fine," came the reply. "I didn't see the point in waking you up. I'm not even tired." The stiffled yawn at the end of the sentence betrayed him, and Halt gestured for him to come back into camp. Reluctantly, Muse disentangled himself from the bush and followed.

The pair sat at the edge of the fire, Halt poking at the coals with a stick to relight some of the smaller branches. They were silent for almost half an hour before the Ranger finally spoke. "What's wrong?"

For several minutes more, Muse stared into the small blaze, absentmindedly scratching the dog's head. "I don't wanna go to sleep."

"Your parents aren't dead, are they?" Halt asked. He was beginning to suspect what might have happened, and why Muse had gotten so uncomfortable. "You were abandoned."

Without warning, the boy turned and buried his face into Halt's shoulder. Startled, the grizzled, dark-haired Ranger –

* * *

"Wait. Halt, there was another Ranger there?" Will asked, barely managing to keep a straight face. As usual, it was Jenny who giggled, but only Alyss and Lady Pauline were entirely successful in hiding their grins. Halt was rather sour-faced.

"My hair was darker when I was younger, for your information. And don't get too excited about it because pretty soon you're going to start having some grays of your own. Crowley certainly does."

As he had intended, everyone's gaze swung over to Crowley, and the Commandant held his hands up defensively. "I feel that as Commandant of the King's Ranger Corps, it's only appropriate that I retain my youthful appearance. I will admit that I do dye my hair on occasion. Unlike Mr. Salt over there." He jerked a thumb back at Halt, who unconsciously ran a hand through what his friends jokingly referred to as his 'luscious locks' – when he wasn't around, of course.

"Salt and _pepper_ , I think," he growled, but his long time friend just shook his head.

"You _like_ to think. It's really more salt these days."

Will shook his head. "Fine, you used to be pepper. But now you're salt. Happy?"

Halt glared at his former apprentice, and then Alyss. Ever the diplomat, there was no sign of the smile she was hiding, and that aggravated him more than if she was rolling in the dirt laughing.

"When I say 'dark haired Ranger' obviously I'm not talking about Crowley," the salt-and-pepper man said.

Horace sighed, but there was a hint of pleasure in the sound. "I know you Rangers like to prattle on, but can we please continue?"

* * *

Without warning, the boy buried his face into Halt's shoulder. Startled, the grizzled, dark-haired Ranger slowly put an arm around him and let the boy's tears soak into his cloak.

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped, his voice muffled by the thick wool. "I d-didn't wanna g-go to sl-sleep 'cause I w-w-was afraid you would – would leave."

Halt stopped himself before he could ask any questions. Those could come later, but for now Muse just needed to vent.

"I was s-seven," the apprentice sniffed. "my brother J-Jonathan was ten years old and one night he said g-good-bye instead of good n-night. And I didn't r-really wond-wonder why. So when I woke up the next morning I was l-lying under a tree in the f-forest. I th-thought it was a j-joke." A small scuffling to their right went unnoticed by the distraught 12-year-old, but Halt heard and saw Crowley poke his head out from his tent. Slowly, he shook his head. Crowley would have to find out eventually, but for the time being this story was for Halt's ears only. The Commandant nodded and withdrew.

"Jonny always liked jokes. B-but then I tried to get back to the house and I c-couldn't find it. I don't know where I w-was. I never found out. All I know is that I had a canteen and a blanket an a loaf a bread. After a while I found an inn near Castle M-Maci –"

"Macindaw," Halt supplied.

Muse nodded and went on. "Near there, called the Cracked Flagon. The owner, his name was Cullum and he was really nice and so I stayed there for a while but I wanted to get out of Norgate so I left and never went back. Um…" For the first time, Muse hesitated in his story. "I-I saw my parents once, in a village just south of the Norgate border. I avoided them but saw the inn they entered and I went there and haggled with the owner for a bowl of broth and watched from a corner.

"They came downstairs to eat later and sat not too far. They didn't recognize me. I dunno if they ever saw me at all. Jonny wasn't with 'em. I dunno why not. I dunno if something happened to him. But he wasn't there and I haven't seen him since he said goodbye." Muse, who had been staring intently at the flames, looked up. Halt could see the tears glistening on the boy's face. "I-I miss him, Halt. I loved him."

He lapsed into silence again, letting his head drop onto his chest.

Several minutes later, Halt became aware that the boy's breathing had evened and the shaking sobs had stopped. Gently, Halt stood and scooped the boy up in his arms, carrying him to the tent. He slid the boy inside and wrapped a blanket around him. Best to let him sleep through the morning, he thought. Don't push him to get moving when he woke up on his own. Give him time. Make it clear they weren't going to leave without him.

Halt glided back to the clump of bushes for his shift on guard. Nearby, the husky sat guard outside Muse's tent.

* * *

"His parents just… left?" The horror in Alyss's voice was evident. "How could someone do that to a seven-year-old?"

When Halt raised his head, bare of his cloak's cowl, Will saw the glint of tears in his friend's eyes. He could honestly say that, despite working and living with the legend on and off for all of his adult life, this was not a sight he had ever seen before.

"Muse had a mental disorder. A relatively mild one, but the problem was that he couldn't concentrate on much that required him to sit still. Map skills were probably his weakest, unless we were planning a mission – and even then he was iffy with it. He only did well with action. I came to realize that if I brought him out for a run, I could quiz him on things he didn't like and he would do at least twice as well as when he was sitting on the couch inside." Halt jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the cabin that was now Will's. "He hated being in there, too. Occasionally I'd wake up and he would be sleeping outside, wrapped in his cloak, right about where we are now. Several times he even had a fire going."

"So he had attention problems and liked to be outside?" jenny asked. "Why would they abandon him because of that?"

"Jonathon was on track to become a knight. I managed to find out in later years that he did, which is why he wasn't with their parents that night. He was eventually killed at Hackham Heath, but at the time he was much as Horace had been – a natural with a sword and breezing through Battleschool. Their parents expected the same of Muse, but knew that, with his attention span, Battleschool wouldn't accept him. Unfortunately, what they didn't know then was that boys like Muse excel on a battlefield. Their attention problems seem to melt away and they can concentrate on the here and now. Muse was an expert in the field but you put him in a classroom setting and he was terrible. And the classroom tends to be where people look first."

Halt sighed. "Well, there's much more to be told, and if you want to hear it then we'd best get on." He looked around the fire to see that every eye was on him – even Ebony's soft brown and maniac blue. He sighed again. "And we go on."


	2. Chapter 2

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 **Oh and I don't own Ranger's Apprentice... I'm on a FAN fiction site for a reason.**

The wind blew gently through the red and gold maples and green pines, and the soft light of midafternoon pooled on the fallen leaves of the forest floor. To the untrained eye, there was nothing unusual about this particular section of trees. But then there weren't trained to recognize the notches in the trees that showed where heavy, black-shafted arrows had slammed into the bark, or the large scars where a branch had not fallen, but been shorn off by a heavy saxe knife. They may notice such irregularities, but they took little notice.

Harder to find were the Ranger and his apprentice. Wrapped in their gray and green mottled cloaks, the pair stood concealed, each trying to seek the other without being spotted himself. What one didn't realize was that the other was barely two meters over his head and preparing his attack.

Muse had Halt behind a tree twenty meters away. He'd caught sight of his master moving there a few minutes earlier. The spot made sense. The tree was one of the few pine trees in this area, so it was green and wouldn't drop its needles like the maples did their leaves. This provided him with a perfect vantage point to watch Muse from. But once he'd blended with the pine needles, Muse had lost all sight of him. This was an ambush exercise and Muse was confident in his abilities. But he didn't want to attack an innocent pine tree only to discover that Halt had made his escape as Muse advanced.

As it turned out, he didn't have to worry about his attack.

Suddenly, Muse became aware of a presence behind him. A muscled arm clamped around his throat as he tried to turn, and his attacker's other hand covered his nose and mouth, knocking the cowl of the cloak off his head. Muse tried to bite, kick, or hit, but a soft voice in his ear stopped him.

"Muse."

The attacker released his grip and Muse, his face red with anger and embarrassment, spun around to stare at Halt. For several seconds, he was too angry to speak. When he did, he couldn't get the words out. "Halt, h-how could – why would – when d-did you – _why did you attack me?_ "

Muse was livid. Halt backed up several steps to avoid his apprentice's wrath. In the past few months he had realized that standing too close to an irked Muse never ended well. Especially now that he was stronger and learning to fight.

"Calm down," Halt said, careful to keep his own voice under control. "We're in an ambush situation drill. You were bested. It's going to happen and you need to get used to it. This anger will only cloud your thoughts, and you won't be able to fight back effectively. You let your emotions get in the way, Muse, and some day that will get you in trouble. Don't get emotionally involved in what you do. Only rarely will it help, if ever. You were concentrating too hard on beating your teacher instead of ambushing an enemy. You never saw me scale the pine and climb through the trees to get above you. Get into the right frame of mind for your drills or your missions won't succeed."

Suitably chastised, Muse dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered, shamefaced.

Halt stepped forward again, putting an arm around his apprentice's shoulders. "We'll work on it. Go on, get going." Muse nodded, flicked the cowl of his cloak up onto his head, and melted into the trees.

For the rest of the afternoon, the two practiced ambushes. Muse almost caught his mentor once when he snuck up on Halt in a snake crawl, which the older Ranger hadn't realized he had perfected. Unfortunately for the thirteen-year-old, he was spotted only a few meters away, before he could make the ambush itself. Halt pinned him in the ensuing scuffle.

Still, as Muse curled up next to the fire that night with Rusty, there was a smile on his face. He hadn't perfected his skills yet, but he had improved a lot in his first year as a Ranger's apprentice. And tomorrow he'd have an opportunity to show off those skills when they reached the Gathering Ground for the annual Ranger Gathering. The Gathering was also when apprentice's Assessments took place, and he knew he'd be compared to the three other first-years Halt had told him about. He couldn't remember their names as his eyes drifted shut, but knew he would meet them soon and so wasn't concerned. He also knew he would show up all of them.

* * *

"Halt!" Crowley called from the center command pavilion. Reining in Abelard at the campsite Muse had just selected, he turned the small, shaggy horse's head towards his friend. The Commandant was beckoning him.

"Muse, set up camp. I'm going to see what Crowley wants."

Shrugging, the apprentice threw his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. He grabbed his tent and reached for Halt's too, only to realize that it was still tied to Abelard's saddle and Abelard was now grazing outside the command tent as Halt dismounted.

"Eh, I'll get it later," he told himself, beginning to set up his own tent.

In the pavilion, Crowley drew Halt to the side. "Halt, I have something I need you to do for me. It's a bit sensitive, though. Muse can't accompany you anyway because of his Assessment, so you'll be heading out alone in an hour or so."

Halt nodded his understanding. "What do I have to do?"

* * *

"Muse, you have to go back to the Gathering Ground. I can't bring you along."

Sulking in Twister's saddle, Muse reluctantly stopped his horse. Halt, a few feet in front of him, turned to look over his shoulder at his apprentice. "You've got your Assessment to worry about. Don't be concerned with my job, think of your own. I'll have Berrigan look in on you from time to time. And remember, Bartell will be assessing you. Behave, and do your best. Remember what I've taught you."

Only when he finished did Halt realize that Muse was looking at him in wide-eyed fear. "You'll be fine, Muse. Stay calm."

"I don't want you to leave," Muse whispered.

"Would it help if I had Crowley drop by for dinner?"

The looked waned but didn't disappear. "Maybe. He's okay, I guess." But the truth was, Crowley and Muse barely knew each other. They'd only met once, a year ago. So while he was one of the only Rangers Muse knew, he still wasn't much more than a stranger.

"Hey, Muse." Halt swung down from the saddle and walked up to his apprentice. "You'll be okay."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Muse took a couple deep breaths. "I just… I don't trust them, Halt!"

The older Ranger held in a sigh. He should've expected as much. It wasn't the boy's fault, not at all. If anything, Halt was to blame. He had never done anything to prepare Muse for a situation like this. He had to be able to trust all Rangers, even if he had never met them before. "Muse, go back to the campsite. I'll meet you back there in a few minutes, okay?"

Halt gave Abelard a command to follow Muse back to camp, then took off running back the way they'd come. While Muse turned Twister to the right, Halt ran to the eastern edge of the Grounds, where a small stream ran a few meters into the trees. The water was lined with smooth rocks, and Halt plunged his hands in to find one. He settled on a small black one that fit well in his palm, and drew his saxe knife. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he very carefully carved the word 'TRUST' into the stone. It was tough, took several minutes, and he sliced open the palm of his left hand, but the final product came out better than he expected. He dipped the rock back into the stream to wash off the blood, dropped it in his pocket, and ran back to the command tent.

The concern was evident on Crowley's face as he saw his friend approach. "What's wrong?" A hint of panic crept into his voice as he saw the blood streaming freely from Halt's hand. "What happened?"

Halt brushed away his concern. "I'm okay, I just cut myself on my saxe and need you to bandage it before I can head out."

"Damn, Halt," Crowley muttered, taking his friend's hand. Looking at the deep gash, he repeated himself. "I might have to send someone else now. Look at this! And I thought you were supposed to be good with your knives, but you cut yourself. When you think you know a guy…." Still muttering to himself, the sandy-haired Ranger led Halt to the far corner of the command pavilion, where the medical tent was pitched. There was no physician there, but all Rangers knew basic medical procedures and wrapping a wound like this was no issue. Neither was stitching, which was good because it was looking like Halt would need those stitches.

Crowley shoved Halt down onto a cot and laid his injured hand on a table. "Where's that salve?" he asked no one in particular. The salve Rangers carried would numb the wound so Halt wouldn't feel the needle. "Clean that," the Commandant ordered, pushing a jug of water and a towel at his senior Ranger. Halt obeyed, watching the white towel turn dark red as Crowley rummaged for the salve and other supplies he needed to treat Halt's hand.

"Ah ha." Crowley had found the salve.

Several minutes later, Halt's left hand was stitched and heavily bandaged in clean white linen.

"Thanks Crowley." He started to head out of the tent, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Halt, I can't send you out with your hand like that. Go relax for a while, and I'll have you do a tactics assessment with the third-years later tonight or tomorrow. I'll assign someone else."

Halt raised an eyebrow at his friend, clear amusement on his face. "So you're going to tell the entire camp about my mission while you try to find a replacement? We've worked together for years. You know I can handle this."

"You can't hold a bow with a busted left hand, let alone shoot." Halt tried to flex the fingers of his left hand, but Crowley was right. The action hurt and he wouldn't be able to grip his bow. But he was stubborn to the last and wasn't going to give up. Crowley had given _him_ the assignment, and he intended to carry it out, injured bow hand or not.

"I've got my knives," Halt protested, patting the distinctive double-knife acabbard on his left hip. "My strikers, too." His hand fluttered across his right-hand pocket, where the heavy brass weapons settled against his leg. "I'll be fine, Crowley, you know that. You just like to worry. I can handle myself with or without a left hand."

"And I suppose it's not like the hand is actually gone," Crowley himself added with a wry grin. "But maybe I'll send someone with you. If there _is_ trouble…."

Halt held back a sigh. He knew Crowley was only concerned about him. Still, he didn't need assistance. Then again, if Crowley wanted to send someone with him, an older apprentice couldn't hurt, could it? "Fine, then. I'll bring the Trouble with me." Crowley's confusion was painstakingly obvious until Halt gestured to a fourth-year apprentice at a nearby campsite who had already found his way into the Commandant's inner circle. The boy's name was Jacen, but his knack for practical jokes had earned him the nickname Trouble.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Crowley protested, obviously flustered. "You're hurt, if I'm sending you out against my will – which I shouldn't have to do, seeing as I'm in charge here, not you – then I'm picking who goes with you. You don't get that luxury!" His face was flushed and Halt could easily guess why.

Putting an arm around his taller friend's shoulders wasn't very comfortable, but he did it anyway as he calmly replied, "You were going to send Trouble with me already, weren't you?"

The answering silence stretched for some minutes, giving a clear 'yes.' Eventually, the smaller Ranger stepped away. "I'm going to go prep Trouble and make sure Meralon doesn't need him. Don't worry, Crowley. We'll be fine."

There was no response from the Commandant, who hadn't moved for some time. Halt left the med tent and scanned the area. A sea of green tents surrounded him on all sides, right up to the trees. An archery and knife range was set up at the south end. From it came the sound of arrows and heavy knives thudding into targets at incredible speeds. The massive cooking fire for that night's group dinner was set at the north end, and half a dozen of the Corps' best chefs were bustling about to prepare the meal. Other Rangers, often without their camouflage cloaks, milled about among the tents, talking to friends and assigning tasks to bored apprentices.

Halt took it all in, realizing how much space they needed and how far from the nearest people they had to be. The yearly Ranger Gathering, where all fifty active Rangers, their apprentices, and retired Rangers came together to share info, assess apprentices, and just hang out, was a noisy affair. Finding another site like this would be difficult, but it was the task he had been assigned and he would do it.

"Trouble!"

A few tents away, a small, muscular blond boy glanced up from where he was repairing a tear in his cloak. "Hey, Halt. What's up?"

"Finish that and saddle up, you're coming out with me for a day or two. Meet me by the trail off the northeast corner of the grounds in twenty minutes."

Jacen jumped to his feet, but hesitated as he went to don his cloak. "I have to finish this. And what about my Assessment? Besides, Meralon is out; he'll wonder where I am, and I think he has his own sort of Assessment planned for me."

The boy was evidently willing and excited to go, but his own sense of duty, of 'I need to get this done,' was holding him back. Halt just brushed the concern aside, waving his injured hand dismissively. He cared little for other's agendas. "Finish your cloak, gear up, and if Meralon isn't back before you leave, stop by the command tent and have Crowley let him know. As for your Assessment, it's taken care of. You'll have some work to do when we get back but you're off the hook for anything you miss. Now come on, get moving."

Knowing that being exempt from even the tiniest portion of an Assessment was at best rare, Trouble eagerly turned back to finish his cloak and prepare for the trip. Halt was finally able to head back to his own campsite, where Muse sat, quietly cleaning Abelard's hooves. A quick look showed he had already given Twister the same treatment, and brushed down both horses. The boy didn't look up from his work as his mentor approached, and it wasn't clear if Muse was even aware of his presence.

Halt sat on a small log that Muse had dragged close to the fire when he had set up camp. The rock sat in his pocket, seeming so much heavier than it was as he realized that he would soon be presenting the token to his apprentice.

Muse scurried back to Abelard's rear hooves. Rusty had left Muse's side to lay his head in Halt's lap, and both horses had nickered a greeting when Halt approached, but the thirteen-year-old hadn't appeared to notice. He seemed to have forgotten that he was waiting for his mentor to return.

"Muse."

The boy's head shot up at his name, but Abelard had one hoof left and he went on cleaning the horse. When the hoof was mud-free and shinning, Muse gently let Abelard drop his foot.

He still didn't talk as he took a seat next to Halt.

"Muse, I have something for you."

The apprentice looked over curiously to see a small black rock sitting in Halt's palm. "When I leave, you need to get used to being around other people. You won't be working with me for the rest of your life."

* * *

"I wish I hadn't told him that," Halt admitted, staring into the fire. Will stirred the embers and firewood with a sharpened branch that served as his poker. When he added another log and more tinder, the flames shot up, causing Ebony to squeal and scamper back from the warm rocks of the fire pit. "I can't help but think – maybe if I hadn't said that, I would've been right. But I did say it, and he worked with me his whole life, short as it was."

"That's not your fault, Halt," Will said gently. "You couldn't have known then, and you certainly couldn't have stopped what happened by saying something else that day."

Halt sighed and buried his face in his hands, shaking gently with tears. Only Crowley had ever seen the taciturn Ranger show as much emotion as he was now, and that was immediately after Muse's death. He draped an arm around his friend's shoulders and whispered something to him. Nodding, Halt stood slowly and walked away, entering Will's cabin.

"He just needs a minute," Crowley told them. "He has never told this entire story at once before. I think it hurts him to know that Muse could have been here with us now, if he hadn't messed up – and mind you, that's just what he thinks. I don't put any blame on him, I don't know of anyone that does. And I do know that Muse would never have blamed him.

"Anyway, I only know this part of the story from what Halt has told me, so please excuse any inaccuracies.

"Halt gave Muse the rock and told him he would need to start trusting other Rangers than just Halt. He would have to get used to it, and know that his life and others would depend on it in the future. And if he was having trouble opening up and trusting, he was to hold the rock in his palm and think of Halt. A kind of 'what would Halt do?' What's so funny?"

Will and Gilan were grinning at each other. "It just sounds like something an apprentice of Halt's would do," Will answered. "Muse sounds like he would fit in well in this group. After all, both me and Gilan survived our apprenticeships on that same mantra."

"'Gilan and I,' Will. Not 'me and Gilan.' I had to correct Muse's grammar a lot," Halt added apologetically, slumping down onto the log between Crowley and Lady Pauline. "When I came back, I thought he was never going to speak to me again." The words were accompanied by a bitter laugh. "He… was… _ticked_. The poor kid had spent two days alone, only spending time with others for his tactics, archery, and knife-throwing Assessments. He didn't even eat with the others, choosing instead to cook his own rabbits and potatoes at our campsite. He asked Berrigan each day for extra work to do that night, and was disappointed when he wasn't given any. But that was Muse – always willing to work. Happiest when he was."

* * *

"I want to go back to Redmont."

It was dark. The Gathering would officially end the following day, but they wouldn't set out for home until the day after. For now, Rangers sat quietly around personal campfires, the group supper long since finished. Muse was fixing the fletching on his arrows, with some side help from Halt.

"Be careful with that glue," Halt responded belatedly as the boy inadvertently smear the thick paste on his soft leather boot. "Until you're more used to doing it, don't try to repair your arrows while sitting cross-legged. You'll cover yourself in glue or, well, you might do something else."  
That got Muse's attention. He looked up from trying to wipe glue off his boot. All he was doing was making the situation worse anyway. "What else could I do?"

"Muse, you're holding sharp weapons. You might stab or cut yourself. And look at how you're sitting. Think about it. How could you hurt yourself in that position?" He raised his eyebrows, trying to send a message to his apprentice.

The boy's eyebrows came together in confusion for a moment, then shot up in wide-eyed realization and fear. Swiping the arrow off his lap, Muse got his legs out from under him and dropped to his stomach. "'Kay, this way I can see better anyway 'cause it's closer to me."

" _O_ kay," Halt stressed. " _Be_ cause. And just be careful not to stab yourself in the face or eye, either."

"C'mon Halt! How'm I supposed to fix these if I can't sit cross-legged or lie down, either?"

"Come on, how am. If you don't want to hurt yourself, your chances might be better at a desk or table." Of course, the only tables within kilometers were at the opposite end of the Grounds and they both knew Muse wasn't going to willingly work at a relatively public spot if he could stay at the fire with Halt.

Muse huffed and leaned back. "Fine. I'll fix these when we get back home."

"Well, that could be a while," a cheerful voice nearby said. Rusty barked happily and ran to the newcomer, jumping up to lick his face happily.

"Hullo, Crowley," Halt greeted him without turning around.

Before he could continue, there was another interruption. "'Hello,'" Muse said. " _Hell_ -o, not _hull_ -o, Halt."

The two full-fledged Rangers turned to look at him, one with a glare and the other a wide smile and a wink. "Anyway," Halt continued, turning back to his superior, "Crowley, join us. Why won't we be going to Redmont?"

The Commandant walked around the fire to sit across from them. "Coffee?" Muse rushed to prepare a mug for his superior – no honey, because unlike Halt and Muse, he liked his coffee black. "Thanks. You will be going to Redmont, just not 'home.' You'll be starting at Redmont, but I'm not sure where you'll end up. We've had some reports of a missing child from the village just outside Castle Redmont.

"Wensley Village," Muse supplied promptly. Halt nodded approvingly. "Okay, so we just have to find the kid, right?"

But this time, Halt was shaking his head. "I wish it were that simple, Muse. But we have to find the boy, find the kidnapper, and figure out if he's working with anyone. If he is, and I'm assuming Crowley thinks he is" – he glanced at his friend for confirmation, and the sandy-haired Ranger nodded – "we have to find them and apprehend them as well. Next we figure out where the other children – for they almost certainly have more than one – are, where they should be, and bring them home."

Muse's face fell as he realized the enormity of the task ahead of them. Worse, at least for him, it that he would surely have a few cold camps on this mission. There were a few things about being a Ranger that he didn't like, but he _hated_ , hated hated _hated_ cold camps, where dinner was mainly dried meat and crumbly, stale biscuits. But even those were bearable in small amounts. The rubbery dried fruit and warm water that tasted of the leather skin it was confined to, not having even cold coffee, now _that_ was an issue.

* * *

"So he was a true Ranger," Horace remarked, barely holding a straight face. "Whines about his coffee all the time. Coffee stunts a child's growth, you know."

"It's an old Ranger trick," Halt replied. Unlike the young knight, his expression was serious. "You'll notice that most Rangers are rather small. Present company accepted, of course." He waved his hands at Gilan and Crowley. Gilan was significantly taller than most Rangers, and the Commandant, while a small man, was still taller than Halt, who in turn was taller than Will. "Smaller people are harder to notice. So we shovel coffee down their throats, and they're better Rangers than the bigger guys. I mean, just look at Will and Gilan."

Instantly Gilan went on the defensive while Will grinned wildly. "I'm the Corps' best unseen mover! Everyone always asks me to help train their apprentices!"

"Yeah, but I'm tactics and archery. That's two to your one!" Will smirked at his close friend.

"Boys! Stop fighting!" came from several mouths around the fire.

Will and Gilan dropped their heads in mock embarrassment. Satisfied, Princess Cassandra was finally able to ask the question that had been bugging her for several minutes. "So you got into a confrontation with these kidnappers. Is that what happened?" Her voice was hushed. "Is that how he…" She trailed off, unwilling to say the word. But Crowley and Halt were already shaking their heads.

"That happened later," Halt choked out.

"The mission itself isn't important," Crowley added. "Not to this story, anyway." What he didn't mention was Halt's true motive for telling them about the kidnappings – to delay. "I think the point it more what happened after, when they reuinited all the kids with their parents."

* * *

A high-pitched cheering rose from the throats of the dozen or so young children crowded around the two horses and the dog. One boy took off running, and another slid off the white and black horse's back to follow. Twister didn't seem to notice the lightening of his load – but then, the load had been considerably lighter than the usual weight of Muse and his kit.

"Go on," Halt said, gesturing towards the parents standing in the village square. Half a dozen grimy young faces turned up to him, while the rest of the children took off, meeting their parents halfway in massive bear hugs.

The ones who had been away longer, who hadn't seen their parents as recently, sat back, clinging to the animals and the Rangers. Muse detached a young redheaded boy named Riley from his leg and picked the seven-year-old up in his arms. He scanned the crowd briefly, quickly finding the worried mother with the straight red hair and freckles that marked her as Riley's mother. The boy clinging to his neck, the apprentice approached her. Her eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth. Muse could hear her small whimper. "Riley."

"See her, Riley? That's your mommy."

"Mommy!"

The woman let out a sob and ran forward to meet them. Muse tried to hand the boy off, but Riley clung to the apprentice's cloak and, accidently, the chain that held his bronze apprentice oakleaf insignia. The chain dug into the back of his neck, so Muse allowed himself to be pulled closer to the child. Riley placed a clumsy kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks Muse!"

"Thank you so much," Riley's mother wept, tears streaming down her face. She buried her face in Riley's long red hair and moved away, muttering to him. The boy watched Muse for some minute more. He would always remember the Ranger who took a sword stroke on the arm to save his, Riley's, life.

"Why did you want to be a Ranger so badly?" Halt asked conversationally as Muse approached. He was leaning against Abelard, eyes fixed on the children and their parents. Muse got the impression that Halt already knew the answer to his own question. "It's a dangerous business for a small boy like yourself."

His eyes flicked to Muse's right forearm, which had a bloodstained bandage wrapped around it. It was starting to unravel. "And for small men, like yourself," Muse threw back, pointing to Halt's left hand, still bandaged from the trust rock sitting in Muse's left pocket.

"That was my own doing."

"But if you weren't a Ranger it never would've happened."

"True. You haven't answered my question yet." Halt glanced briefly at his apprentice again. "You wanted to be a Ranger why?"

When Halt looked next, Muse was staring at a pair of redheads, a mother and a young boy, walking up the main street of the village to an old plow horse. The mother hoisted Riley up onto the horse's back and took the lead rein, leading the horse back home to their outlying farm. Muse watched them go until they dropped out of sight behind a lone hill some minutes later.

"For them. So I could help other kids have the life I never got."


	3. Chapter 3

**I am _wicked_ sorry this took so long! I've been feeling crazy guilty about it. More on that at the bottom... Meanwhile, over on tumblr, with-all-my-woes made me (majortrouble) a wonderful drawing of Muse and Rusty, so you should check it out if you liked this story!**

The moon had long since set, and the only light came from the stars and the gently shifting reds and oranges of dying embers. Halt and Crowley had taken a brief hiatus as Horace and Will had gone to fetch more coffee.

"Halt?" Alyss asked hesitantly. "How old would Muse be today?" Picturing the young Ranger Halt and Crowley had described was easy, but the girls, who had been talking about the young apprentice, couldn't picture him being any older than maybe eighteen or nineteen – around the age of his death.

Halt sighed and thought briefly. "Well, I picked up Gilan three years later, when he was fourteen. Muse at that time would've been twenty-one or twenty-two. So middle thirties, maybe forty? It's hard to be sure, especially since we were never entirely convinced he knew his own age."

"Wow, what does that say about you?" Will laughed, popping up behind his mentor with more coffee. "I mean, you had to be at least twenty at the time, right? Maybe a few years older? So you're what, sixty?" He grinned and received a glare in return, but that was nothing new. Age was a touchy subject for Halt.

"I said _maybe_ forty. More like thirty-five or thirty-six, I would guess."

"Still puts you in your mid-fifties at best," Gilan pointed out cheerfully.

Crowley decided he should interject before Halt took off someone's head. He had a low tolerance for teasing at the best of times, so the Commandant figured that maybe, just this once, he'd give his buddy some help.

"Come on, boys. Stop teasing my _old friend_ ," he said, straight-faced.

Or maybe he wouldn't. After all, where's the fun in that?

"I'm sorry," Halt said. Those words alone were enough to quiet the group, coming from Halt. "I didn't realize we were done here." He started to rise, the six young men and women he still thought of as kids staring at him, mouths agape.

"Wait, Halt, we were just kidding!" Will scrambled to his feet, spilling some of his precious honey-laced coffee in the dirt.

His mentor raised an eyebrow. "For some reason I doubt that," he responded, but after several seconds he sank back into a crouch and sat down. "So we have his age down, roughly. Can we move on now?"

Nodding from around the circle. Gilan added some more wood to the fire and jabbed at it with the metal poker to get it in the middle of the blaze.

"We don't have much longer," Crowley reminded them with a yawn. "I have to leave by midday at the absolute latest, and I need a couple hours of sleep first. Can't go off coffee like I used to. Besides, King Duncan would really prefer to have his daughter and the Oakleaf Knight back as soon as possible."

"We were supposed to leave yesterday," Cassandra agreed.

"Then how about you pipe down so I can talk?" Halt asked irritably. He was met with silence. "Finally."

* * *

Muse reined in Twister at the edge of the Gathering Ground, behind Halt. Rusty jumped out of the small wagon that the horse had been pulling and ran off to find Crowley. Muse had had to follow his mentor the entire way because he only knew the way to the old Grounds; this was the first time they would use this location, which Halt had found some years earlier. There was nothing _wrong_ with the old location, but this was larger, so tents wouldn't be on top of each other and more targets could be set up at the knife throwing and archery ranges. Not to mention that changing up the location every once in a while was good for security.

This year was also Muse's last Gathering as an apprentice. For the past few months he'd been going over everything he'd ever learned from Halt. He was terrified of the outcome of his final Assessment; if he wasn't good enough to be a Ranger, he'd be an apprentice for at least another year. He'd love to be with Halt longer, of course, but he wanted to get out and start putting his lessons to practice on his own. On the other hand, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to handle the job. Being a Ranger is no easy feat, Halt had told him a thousand times. What if he wasn't good enough? Managing his own fief, making sure they had the proper number of trained knights and men-at-arms, ensuring that those men were all properly trained, and keeping the civilians law-abiding and loyal to the King would take a lot of hard work. Doing it at Halt's side, or even doing it _for_ Halt, was not be the same, because on his own he would have no backup, no guiding hand.

"Halt!" A clear voice rang through the clearing and several other Rangers looked up to see the newcomers. There were some cheers and one Ranger stood up to clap Halt on the back. "Nice place, Halt," Crowley said, walking up. Rusty followed him happily. "Spacious but hidden – just what we Rangers like."

Halt shrugged off the praise. "You asked me to do a job and I did it. Anyone else here could have found the same place – or a better one."

"Maybe, but _you_ were asked to, and _you_ succeeded," Muse pointed out. He knew Halt wanted to be out of the spotlight, and for that exact reason, he was going to drag his mentor back in. "So you deserve the praise."

"I just did my job," Halt reiterated, glaring at his apprentice. _We'll talk about this later._

Muse shrugged. He'd done worse and survived his punishment.

Later that night, after dinner, Crowley and Muse had a little more fun. The Rangers, sprawled on log benches and in the grass around the dining table of lashed-together logs, each refilled their cups from the keg of water. Most Rangers didn't drink alcohol, so if they wanted any they had to provide for themselves. At the head of the table, Crowley stood up.

"I'd like to propose a toast!"

Grins lit up the clearing. Ranger toasts were amusing because most of the men were either terribly embarrassed or responded very graciously and made a big show of it all, which typically included more toasts. Toasting could become quite the lengthy affair at a Ranger Gathering.

"To the man who found this clearing, the new Ranger's Gathering Ground… Graybeard Halt!"

* * *

"No," Will whispered, astonished. "You wouldn't say that. Crowley, you didn't."

The Commandant nodded. "I did," he assured the younger Ranger. " _Graybeard Halt_ is not the first time I heard the term. I used to call him that a lot, actually."

"I thought he said his hair used to be black?" Horace asked.

"Oh, it was," Halt growled. He was really wishing that Crowley hadn't mentioned the term 'Graybeard Halt' – the time when Will had made a parody of _Old Joe Smoke_ about him using the nickname was bad enough. He didn't need the boy to know where it originated from, too.

"I'm confused." Cassandra leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. "If his hair used to be black, why did you call him 'Graybeard?' Or was his beard gray, maybe?"

"No," Halt insisted, "my beard and hair were all black. I promise you that."

The kids on the far side of the fire exchanged looks. Halt still insisted to this day that his hair and beard were black, or at least mostly black, when in truth they was more a dark gray with light gray. There wasn't any reasoning with the grizzled Ranger.

"It was a running joke we had. Halt was afraid to age. 'I don't want to get old,' he'd complain." Crowley paused. "Well, maybe not really. I don't remember how the nickname came about in the first place, and I think Halt has blocked that memory, but it stuck because it bothered him."

Halt grumbled.

* * *

Cheers went up around the table, clearing the birds from the branches of the forest. Down at the archery range, an early-waking raccoon, attracted by the smell of roasted deer, scampered away in alarm. Muse raised his glass and clanged it against Crowley's. There was a round of "Halt! Halt! Halt!" and patting the honored Ranger on the back. His glare said _I'll get you for this later_.

He never would.

On the second day of the Gathering, around noon, Muse was called from his lunch with no warning and dragged into the forest. Rusty stayed put with a hurried gesture from Muse as he stumbled into the woods. The boy who came for him wasn't much of a surprise; Jacen, also known as Trouble, was the apprentice who had helped Halt locate this particular clearing. He had been back several times since, and knew the area better than any other Ranger, including Halt and Crowley. The older Rangers in charge of the Assessments, Bartell and Harrison, had asked for his assistance this year in setting up some sort of exercise. Of course Muse, as an apprentice still, was not allowed to know what he was doing until he was in the middle of the test – or maybe after.

Trouble ghosted through the trees, and Muse had to pay close attention to keep up with him. They'd been moving for maybe ten minutes when suddenly Muse heard the hiss of an arrow splitting the air. He dove for cover behind a tree, lying flat, and listened closely to the forest around him. Trouble disappeared. The arrow had slammed into the tree immediately behind Muse, burying itself halfway up the shaft in the soft pine.

Adrenaline pumping, Muse had to remind himself to breathe deeply and calm down. Where did the arrow come from? Over to the right. How long ago? Less than a second since it hit the tree. How far? The arrow is pretty deep; they're close. Where did Trouble go? He's gone to ground. Probably neutral or on their side.

If he hadn't known any better, Muse might've thought that he was under a true attack. But this was Ranger training. Maybe it was real, but ninety-nine out of one hundred times he was under friendly fire. So he wasn't going to get hurt. And if he wanted to, he could use that to his advantage. But he also knew that thinking like that could get him killed, if this were the one percent. Or if he let it become a habit. Or worse… he wouldn't pass his Assessment. He'd be an apprentice for another year. Maybe kicked out entirely.

Slowly, Muse's hand crept down his side and onto his double scabbard. But he wasn't going for a weapon. His hand slid farther down and slipped into his pocket, very carefully. To move was to expose yourself. But Muse needed something.

He clenched his fist around a small, smooth stone, and ran his thumb over the letters carved into the surface. "T," he muttered. "R. U. S. T." Breaking Ranger rules again by talking.

In this case, the word meant 'Trust your instincts.' And his instincts screamed at him to stay down and look left. The arrow came from the right, but his gut said there was danger on the other side.

And even as he slowly turned his head to his left, he heard the thrum of another longbow. He bunched his legs up under him and dove forward again, seeking refuge in a small hollow under a dead tree supported by its neighbors. Something jerked his cloak hard to his right side, like he'd been grabbed, and Muse struggled to roll over and see his attacker.

But there was no attacker. There was an arrow, transfixing his cloak to the dead trunk.

There was no time to be careful, or to try to salvage the arrow for his own use. He'd grabbed his bow on his way out of camp, of course, and the weapon was lying on the ground next to his left hand. His quiver was slung across his back, but he only had the twenty-four arrows in his quiver, and he never knew when he might need more. Still, he gently raised his hand, holding the sleeve of his cloak to conceal the pale skin, and broke the shaft so he could slide the ripped cloak free.

Still no sign of the attackers, but they were Rangers. That would make them infinitely harder to spot. His best chance was to climb a tree and find them from above, but he'd never be able to climb one without getting every loose flap of clothing pinned to the tree.

But climbing wasn't his _only_ chance.

Muse's hand inched along the ground until he found a small rock, about the size of the trust rock. He cocked his arm back as much as he could under the tree and fired to the right, in the general direction of the first arrow. He didn't hear anything after the rock slammed into a tree trunk, but he saw the movement of a longbow being drawn. The Ranger behind it must have either figured out he wasn't in danger or didn't know where to aim, because he didn't shoot. But he had stepped out from behind his tree to aim, and before he was able to duck back into cover, Muse had seen him.

His trained eyes scanned the area, but that was the only movement he'd seen, and he seemed to be the only bowman on that side. Cloaked and hidden in shadow as he was, Muse wasn't sure, but the man had looked like Bartell. That meant Harrison was probably on his left, and Trouble in front of him. He needed a plan. The only way out was back, and that was no good. Surely they all had a fairly clear line of sight to him. Moving in any direction wasn't much of an option.

What he didn't know was that the Ranger on his right was not Bartell, but Brayden, a fellow last-year apprentice and one of Muse's close friends. And the Ranger to his left was not Harrison, but Merron, the last apprentice in Muse's year. This was the first part of their training, and each boy thought _he_ was the one being ambushed. And if any of them was convinced he was in the middle of a real attack, it could spell the end for one of the others.

And that was the point. Not to have them kill each other, but to see if each could figure out what was happening and keep his head on straight. If the overseers thought any of the boys wasn't handling the exercise well and might become a danger to his friends, then he would be removed from the exercise and subjected to another year of Ranger training.

Muse found another stone and threw it slightly to the right of where he thought the other Ranger was. This time, he heard a startled yelp, cut off quickly. That was his second clue that he wasn't being boxed in by instructors. The first had been the other bowman, stepping clear of the tree and drawing his bow without a target. A Ranger could sight, nock, draw, aim and fire in a second, so there was no point in drawing the bow before finding the target. And a trained Ranger lying in ambush would be silent no matter what may happen around him.

Now that he knew the locations of the two shooters, assuming they didn't move, Muse could find their blind spots and work his way through them. And for starters, he'd have to work his way along the small ditch he was in, to the cover of another fallen log. From there, he could stand and maybe get off a shot at the Ranger on his right, with the thick undergrowth protecting him against an attack from the rear.

Muse glided forward on his stomach, moving as slowly as he could, sliding his bow along beside him and hoping it didn't catch on anything. The weapon was strung, which made the task more difficult, but he could hardly unstring and restring when he stood. There simply wasn't time.

Standing now, Muse took three deep breaths and nocked an arrow, stepping smoothly to his right to clear the tree in front of him. Through the trees, he spotted the dead spot on a pine tree he'd used as reference. The maple to the left was hiding his target. He took another deep breath, aimed, and fired.

There was no response and he spun back behind his tree, and Muse wasn't sure that the other Ranger hadn't moved. He peered through the think underbrush towards the other attacker, finding the clearing and then just barely making out the pale, thin hands and the heavy iron ring.

I know that ring, Muse thought. He and Merron had been working together for ages. Not only were they in the same year of training, but Merron's master was stationed at Whitby Fief, which was next to Redmont, where Halt and Muse lived. Merron was a fairly quiet boy, like many Rangers, and he had a nervous habit of twisting an old iron ring on his hand – something his father had given him before he left for his training. He had lived in one of the southernmost fiefs, so even though Whitby was regarded as the geographical center of Araluen, Merron was still far from home.

If Merron were one of his ambushers, then surely Brayden was the other. Brayden was a small boy with spikey blonde hair and lively green eyes that always made you wonder what prank he'd just pulled or was about to pull, and how much it would embarrass you. He was not only his master's protégée, but Trouble's.

Once he'd discovered the identity of his attackers, Muse's reaction was no longer to evade, but to engage. If he could get to them, he could tell them they were on the same side and the exercise would be over. The risk of getting shot by his friends would be gone.

The problem was getting close to them while they also moved through the forest – and worse, do it without getting detected.

Muse kept going forward along the path he'd already found, keeping to his friend's blind spots when possible. He'd been moving for almost five minutes and was in a thick grove of young trees when a sudden _thock_ took him by surprise and had him hitting the deck. "Damn it," he muttered, disgusted with himself. The arrow had been aimed at Merron, from Brayden. But that wasn't the issue. The issue was that they were much closer than he'd expected, even accounting for their own movement. They must have been better at this than he thought.

He scrambled to find a rock, but the best he could do was a heavy stick. _Good enough._ The branch was about the size and weight of his saxe knife, and while he wouldn't get nearly the accuracy he'd need, he threw it end-over-end in the direction the arrow had come from. To his great surprise, he was rewarded with a low grunt. _Sorry Bray._

"Merron," he called out, keeping his voice low. "Brayden."

There was a rustle behind him, and a low, "Muse?"

"Yeah, it's me. Don't shoot."

The young apprentice rose from his crouch, hands up in the universal 'I'm unarmed so please don't kill or maim me' gesture, his bow at his feet and both knives sheathed. Technically speaking he could've thrown his saxe knife and struck his target, Brayden, with the hilt, but the branch was less painful and less risky. If he'd thrown the saxe and his friend had stepped forward or back half a rotation of the knife, he could have been killed or seriously injured.

"We were attacking each other. Come on out, guys."

Merron and Brayden materialized in front of him in the way Rangers often do, seeming to appear out of thin air. "I am really glad my first shot missed you," Merron said, referring to the arrow that had caught Muse's cloak. "I didn't realize you were a Ranger until I started to release, and I barely had time to shift my aim. Then you almost dove into it anyway!"

"I'll make you a new one," Muse promised, explaining how he'd broken the arrow off halfway.

Even as they spoke, each boy was scanning the forest behind the others, and when Muse picked up his bow, he did so suddenly, dropping and rising with an arrow nocked in the blink of an eye. It was hard to see through the trees around them, but seeing them in the shadows would be harder. There was a chance the instructors, who had to be watching from somewhere, wouldn't know they had found each other.

"How'd you know it was us?" Brayden asked. "Bartell dragged me out of camp in the middle of helping some first-years with their knife-throwing and a few minutes later I was alone and saw movement, so I shot. I think that was you, Muse. Sorry."

"It's okay," Muse said. "I thought you _were_ Bartell at first. But I got a little ahead and after I'd shot at you – or at least, where you had been, I think you moved – I turned and saw Merron. I wouldn't have recognized him, I had assumed he was Harrison, but I saw the ring on his hand." Muse gestured to it with the arrow nocked on his bowstring.

"I was sleeping," Merron muttered. "You scared the heck out of me with that rock, one of you." Muse assumed he meant he had been sleeping at the Grounds earlier, but he sure seemed to be saying that he had been sleeping in the middle of the woods.

Muse raised his left hand, holding the bow and arrow in his right. "That would be me. Sorry. I was trying to see if either of you would expose yourselves. That's why I thought Bray was Bartell – he stepped out from behind a tree and I caught a glimpse of him. You yelped and gave the game away."

There was a bush rustling slightly, some twenty meters behind Merron. Brayden noticed first. "Guys, you do realize we're supposed to be ambushing each other, not talking, right?"

"Guys, you do realize that if we really found ourselves in this situation, ambushing each other, we would stop and talk, right?" Muse countered with a grin. "It might not be what they expected, but I think it's the right call. But hey if you want to attack me, go on." He held up his hands, welcoming Bray to take him down and knowing his friend wouldn't.

"Okay, fine," Brayden agreed, sounding slightly annoyed. "Now I won't. But I'll admit, if I'd just attacked you and figured out who you were in the middle of grappling, I wouldn't've stopped. Not in the middle of the biggest Assessment of my life, anyway."

"Come on, Brayden. Muse is right," Merron pushed. "They know we can fight. If we couldn't fight we wouldn't be here. They wanted to see how we would react to this."

The bush rustled a little bit more. This time Merron heard and turned, scanning. Muse's eyes wandered the surrounding forest, looking for more signs. There, in the spruce, and maybe there – no, there, by the small pond.

"Trouble has to be in the spruce," Muse commented, careful to keep his voice conversational and even. "He climbs better than Harrison or Bartell, and it's closest to the line he led me on when we came in."

"Harrison's behind me," Merron decided. "He brought me out here while I was trying to take a nap. Didn't sleep well last night."

The others nodded in agreement. They'd all been apprehensive and slept very little, knowing their official Assessment would start today. Worse, they knew they had been going through tests since long before they had ever thought about them. There was one other apprentice who was technically in their year, and he was great at what he understood, but was unfortunately a slow learner. Two years ago, about halfway between Gatherings, Crowley had gone to his fief and told him he would be taking an extra year to learn everything he needed before he could graduate and become a full-fledged Ranger.

"That means Bartell is behind me."

"The pond, Brayden," Muse told his friend. "He's in the undergrowth by the pond."

"Want to ambush _them_?" Bray asked with a grin. "I'll get Trouble, you" – he gestured to Muse – "can get Harrison, and you" – here he indicated Merron – "can go after Bartell. Sound good?"

Muse and Merron nodded. "So how we gonna do this?"

Tracking Rangers is nearly impossible when they don't want to be found, even for other Rangers. Harrison wasn't in the same spot as he had been; when the boys broke and moved, so did the instructors. But Muse had managed to get behind his target, and he could just make out the rustle of leaves where Harrison had accidently brushed a low branch, the moss springing back up where he'd stepped. Then he rose out of the ground behind a tree just ten meters in front of Muse. Soon, he'd be within striking distance, and the apprentice could overcome him.

An arrow whizzed through the air another twenty meters beyond that, burying itself in a tree trunk. A second skittered off a boulder. Brayden and Merron were doing their job well.

The idea was to distract and imply that the three boys were still trying to get the best of one another. Muse would quietly take down Harrison, apologize, and gag him. Then he'd rotate up and take Merron's place. Brayden would get Trouble last. In the circumstances, they had decided that Trouble would be the hardest to ambush. Bartell and Harrison probably wouldn't do much to defend themselves once they figured out what was happening. But Trouble might, and that could make noise. Plus, if the three were communicating in any way, loss of communication with the youngest Ranger would seem more of a problem than if Bartell lost touch with Harrison.

Up ahead, there was the solid _thunk_ of a saxe knife's hilt hitting a tree trunk. Harrison's gaze seemed to be fixed on the miniature battle ahead of him. As Merron and Brayden stopped moving to exchange shots, so did the watchers. Muse crept forward.

There was a meter between the Ranger and the soon-to-be when Harrison sensed something and slowly started to turn. Many would instinctively whip around to see what was behind them, but a Ranger knew that movement caught the eye, and he would be spotted immediately – assuming, of course, that he hadn't been already.

Muse took one long stride forward and clamped a hand over Harrison's mouth, sweeping his right leg out to knock his victim over. He used his left arm to catch him and keep the older man from getting hurt – but mostly from making noise. He gently lowered Harrison to the ground, still covering his mouth, and balled up a fistful of bandages in his left hand. Holding them over Harrison's face, he said, "If you let us go along with this, and you sit here quietly and don't say a word, don't signal Bartell or Trouble in any way shape or form, I won't have to gag you. But I can't have you ruining our plan." It wasn't until later that night that he realized how that sounded, and how close he had come to getting them all in serious trouble.

Harrison's eyes showed his confusion, then triumph. Muse lifted his fingers off the Ranger's lips only enough for him to whisper, "What if there are more of us?"

"It crossed my mind," Muse agreed, bringing the balled up bandages closer to Harrison's mouth. The older Ranger quietly allowed himself to be gagged and tied to the tree.

"How come Harrison didn't notice him?" Horace asked. "I mean, even with your attention focused on something else, it's really hard to sneak up on Rangers, isn't it?"

"It's not easy," Will admitted. "But this wasn't a normal situation. He thought there were three kids ahead of him and didn't expect anyone to ever come up behind him. So when he got bested, he accepted it and let it happen. At least, that's my guess."

Halt and Crowley nodded. "He was rather embarrassed about that," the Commandant told them. "Was never proud of the fact that he got that distracted, but was impressed with the way the boys reacted when they realized they were being used against each other."

"So what happened?" Cassandra asked. "Did they get the others or not?"

"They did," Halt answered. "Merron had a little bit of trouble with Bartell, but not enough to alert Jacen. And Brayden took him out with no problems, and they brought the three to that small grove of trees they'd met in before. When they explained what had happened, Bartell was laughing to himself. They passed with flying colors."

The following Assessments weren't so violent or sudden. There were typical archery and knife-throwing tests, silent and unseen movement tests, and even cooking and arrow-making tests. Every aspect of Ranger life was examined and evaluated. They went for a four hour horseback ride one day, and spent two hours washing other Ranger's cloaks the next. Even Rusty's ability to track, move unseen and unheard, and catch small game was tested.

"I love Final Assessments," one Ranger sighed as Brayden handed him his freshly sharpened knives and arrows. Another was overjoyed at having the hole in his tent patched by Merron, and a third had a sprained ankle wrapped expertly by Muse.

* * *

"Wouldn't the part where you go out into the woods be at the end?" Horace asked, confused. "Don't you normally work up to the hard stuff?"

"Some might do that," Halt agreed, ignoring Crowley's warning about revealing Ranger secrets. Muse himself was a Ranger secret. "But Rangers like to be different. This way, an apprentice thinks more is coming, and the pressure is on. They'll perform all their tasks under even more stress, never knowing when they might get pulled into the woods again. So we work backwards, in a way. Hardest to easiest."

"Though nothing in a Ranger's life is truly easy," Will added.

Halt and Crowley nodded solemnly. "Too true."

* * *

On the last day of the Gathering, all the 'underclassmen' apprentices were escorted away from the Grounds for the graduation ceremony. No Rangers were allowed to know what the ceremony was like until they went through it.

Merron and Brayden's families, along with most of the Ranger Corps, stood hidden in the trees, prepared to jump out and surprise the boys. Crowley, the apprentices, and their mentors stood by the command tent. Rusty was snaking around everyone's legs, trying to get scratched and petted. Even Muse's horse Twister had moved over, sensing excitement. Abelard, Halt's horse, had followed.

It was a good thing he had. As one, the two horse's heads shot up, and they nickered a warning. The seven Rangers tensed, and Muse and Halt swung up into their saddles. Around the clearing, the rest of the Ranger horses were reacting as well. Cloaked men ran out of the trees, trying to find the danger their horses sensed.

"Halt!"

The Ranger turned not toward the voice – Muse's – but behind him. "Muse, run!" he screamed in reply, using his knees to spin Abelard as he nocked an arrow. "Run, get clear!" He glanced over his shoulder and spun back just in time to catch a club on his forehead. Muse watched as his mentor slumped sideways out of the saddle and lay, facedown and unmoving, on the grass.

"No!"

Other Rangers were mounted now and shooting at the attackers – a group of one hundred men, almost twice the size of the active Corps, who appeared out of the trees armed with clubs and swords. They'd come from the west, where the Rangers hadn't been hiding because of the stream between the forest and the apprentices.

Abelard stood over Halt and kicked away any attackers that came near his master. Muse came to his defense as well, drawing his saxe knife and slashing away at anyone that came close. Luckily he was pretty good at the double-knife defense, using his saxe knife to block sword strokes, and his smaller throwing knife for leverage.

Muse blocked one stroke and grabbed the collar of the guy's shirt, dragging him off-balance and within range of the short throwing knife. Freshly sharpened, the blade pierced the skin under his chin and down he went. Muse spun around to deflect a thrust aimed at his back and ducked under a club, rolling forward and coming up on one knee near Twister. The horse kicked an attacker in the head, sending him to the ground. Rusty jumped on an attacker and snapped at his face and throat, knocking him backwards into one of his comrades.

"Watch out, Crowley!" Muse hollered.

The Commandant spun around and swayed to the side to avoid a sword thrust. He wasn't quite fast enough, though – the blade snagged his cloak and threw him off balance. Muse didn't see any blood, but he didn't have time to watch others fight. He was still trying to save Halt's life, not to mention his own.

One of the attackers was armed with a heavy, two-handed battle axe, and he was swinging it in circles in front of him as he advanced towards the little nuisance by the two horses. Being such a small guy, the raiders had expected Muse to go down quickly. Instead, he had taken down a four or five guys single-handedly.

The attackers, figuring that most of the camp was out, had gone after the small graduation group in the center of the clearing, whom they now had surrounded. Merron was bleeding on the ground, Halt was unconscious, and Crowley was favoring his right leg, but the others seemed okay. Men at the back of the raiding party seemed surprised to find themselves under fire as Rangers at the edges of the Grounds shot into their ranks, but the archers didn't dare try to pick off those closer to their comrades. As good as Rangers are, there were so far too many people to even see the others clearly, and one wrong move could put an arrow through a Ranger's heart. It was too risky.

So Muse was effectively on his own. While at first having the horses seemed an advantage, Muse and Halt had been unable to get away before the raiders engaged, and now Twister and Abelard, while helping defend, cut Muse off from the others. And there was a battle axe coming at him. A two-knife defense didn't help against a battle axe.

But a saxe knife, balanced for throwing but much heavier than the other knife, did. A small flick of the wrist sent it spinning toward the attacker. For one scary moment, Muse thought that the knife would be deflected by the whirling weapon, but the blade snuck past and caught the man in the leg. Howling in pain, he let go of his axe, which hit another man's arm and sliced the limb clean off. _That worked out better than I thought_.

Muse did a quick spin, his cloak flowing out around him. The attackers were closing in on him. They seemed to have taken a one-man-at-a-time approach. Muse had lost sight of his dog in the fighting.

One went down with an arrow in the throat. The risk of not shooting outweighed that of shooting. If they didn't help, Muse would die anyway. Another dropped with a dark blue shaft sticking out of his chest. A third got a little too close to the cornered apprentice, and Muse rammed the throwing knife into his heart.

That's when Muse's luck ran out.

The knife was deep, and stuck. It took a hard yank to free, and Muse kicked the guy backwards at the same time. But even as he pushed off on the man's chest, a sword sliced into him from behind. Looking down, he saw the bloody metal protruding from his stomach. His head swam, and he toppled over. The sword was pulled out, and the attackers left him for dead. Numbers severely depleted, they fought their way through the rest of the Ranger Corps to the woods. None of them made it.

Crowley was running over to check on Halt even as the rest of the Corps fought of the remaining raiders. Only when he looked up to get Muse's help did he realize the boy was lying face down in the grass. Rusty whimpered over his still form, licking his face.

The Commandant rolled the apprentice over and held Muse's head in his lap. He was breathing, but barely. His eyes were open but clouded, and he clearly couldn't see. He groped briefly at his pocket, and Crowley helped him retrieve the trust stone there. "Thank… you," he croaked, trying to grip it tightly. The token almost slipped through his fingers, but Crowley placed the rock on his chest, several inches higher than the wound, and placed the boy's hands over his heart. Rusty, still whimpering, laid his head on Muse's thigh.

"No, Muse, thank you for everything you've done for this Corps," Crowley whispered, a tear falling from his cheek to the dying apprentice's. "You saved Halt's life."

A small smile touched Muse's lips, and he closed his eyes. A few minutes later, his breathing became more labored and his body shuddered. And then he was still, and Rusty's anguished howl split the early morning air.

* * *

Sometime around when he was knocked from Abelard's back, Halt had gotten up and walked into the cabin he used to own. Will assumed he had gone into Will's old room, which he knew had been Gilan's, and before that had probably been Muse's.

"Muse was cremated with the silver oakleaf that same day."

"What happened to Rusty?" Will asked, scratching Ebony behind the ears. Her eyes were closed and her tongue hanging out happily.

Crowley looked at the border shepherd sadly. "He lived with Halt for several years and went on most of Halt's missions with him. Around the time Halt went on to accept Gilan as an apprentice, Rusty was starting to slow down. Shortly after he started losing his eye sight and hearing. As I recall, Halt and Gilan had been together for about a week when they traveled to Castle Araluen to deliver him to me."

"I remember that!" Gilan exclaimed. "I had completely forgotten about him. What a sweet dog. We loaded him up in a wagon and went to visit Crowley. I don't remember what fake reasoning I was given for the trip. I don't think I had ever heard Muse's name. I'd assumed it was Halt's own dog, and Halt never said why he didn't come back home with us."

"I suspect it was easier to not talk about it than to make up stories," Jenny supplied. Crowley nodded in agreement.

"What would have happened if he'd died from friendly fire?" Horace interjected. The question had been bothering him since Crowley had mentioned that the Rangers hadn't fired on the attackers nearest the small group in the middle.

"There's a protocol to make sure no Ranger knows he killed a comrade," Crowley explained. "No one knows an individual's markings on their arrows except that individual, they're closely guarded secrets. Not even the Commandant. When a comrade is shot with a Ranger arrow, the first Ranger to respond wraps the arrow in cloth and removes it from the body, then burns it that night, without ever looking at the markings. No one ever knows exactly who shot him. The Ranger's favorite meal is cooked over the fire along with whatever arrows were left in their quiver when they died. The meal, portioned for one, is split between the entire Corps, each man getting only a small bite. If anything is left, the remains are put in the woods for the animals to finish. Feeding them instead of eating them."

"That's an interesting tradition," Alyss remarked.

Crowley nodded in agreement. "I've only seen it once in my life. Two years ago. Muse's friend Merron, actually. His mentor wears the boy's iron ring on his Oakleaf chain."

"We had turducken," Will remembered with a small grin. "Turkey, duck, and chicken, stuffed inside each other. My bite was duck. Been a fan ever since. I think of him every time."

"I think that's the point of the tradition," Jenny commented. "So that everyone remembers that person when they eat the meal, instead of how they died."

"You picked up on that, did you?" a voice asked out of the gloom. Halt had returned.

Wordlessly, everyone at the fire stood up. There was a particular Ranger tradition that ended Gatherings and Ranger funerals, and it seemed appropriate. The group added their own little twist, each grabbing the hand of the person next to them. Softly, they began to sing the unofficial anthem of the Ranger Corps.

" _Going back to the cabin in the trees_

 _Going back to the creek beneath the hill._

 _There's a girl used to live there when I left._

 _But I doubt she'll be waiting for me still."_

Halt understood his friends' silent message. He'd tried to help Muse. The fact that his apprentice had chosen to stay and protect him instead of saving himself did not make his death Halt's fault.

And for the first time since Muse had died all those years ago, while he lay unconscious nearby, Halt actually believed that maybe, just maybe, they were right.

 **Well, there you have it! I hope you enjoyed it. But honestly, reviewing this last chapter made me remember how rushed I was to finish it for my assignment, so I'm not thrilled with parts of it and may rewrite it. I tried to a couple times over the past two weeks (which is why it took so long to get posted), but wasn't able to find my muse (ironically enough) for it. If I do rewrite it I'll make sure to post it as a new chapter so you can get the update and check it out if you'd like. Thank you very much for sticking with me, it's been a blast!**


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